


The Real Enemy

by Tormented_Gale



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, M/M, Mecha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:04:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5513267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tormented_Gale/pseuds/Tormented_Gale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you don't know where to look for your greatest enemy, who are you the first to turn on?</p><p>The answer: your allies.</p><p> </p><p>**Rating subject to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Engines are failing! I’ve been hit on the left!”

Swerving through debris and enemy ships was hard enough when the damn machine _worked_. It was barely functioning with its clipped wing and sparking engines, all of which should have been whining but went unheard in deep space. _No one can hear you scream_ , one of his instructors had once said. He had replied, _Except those on the other side of your com._

“There’s no one in that area! Pull back!”

The order was coming too late. He tried not to let the sight of torn apart machines distract him, or feel the thudding of his heart with every sight of floating, crushed bodies that had no chance of living once the equalizer of space got to them. He ducked between two ships - enemies or allies, he didn’t know anymore - as they crashed into each other, metal and shrapnel spinning off into the vacuum. His hands were slick in their gloves, but they stayed tight around the driving sticks.

“Asch! Pull back!”

He gritted his teeth together, willing by sheer force for the ship to stay in one piece. Even with the tough scrapes he had been in before, they had been nothing like this. Finally he managed to turn his ship around, away from more debris that reminded him of an asteroid field, and limped back towards the massive mothership.

The _Auldrant_ was damaged too, but at least it was holding together better than Asch’s own ship. He punched the console, ordering it with a glare to give him more power, more speed. Instead it stuttered on like a hiccuping sob.

“Asch! You’ve got incoming!”

He swiveled the seat around so he could reach the back guns - his gunner was dead, he knew that already - and ignored the splattered red that was all over the grips.

“Autopilot engage!” he shouted, and a weak voice from the console called out, “Command confirmed.”

Right, now he could focus on the incoming bastards and hope to take them out before he was blown to bits.

Sleek, black and purple ships shot towards him like bullets and he immediately began firing back, lasers on full charge. The red light lanced out and struck ship after ship, but they kept coming. Their army seemed limitless, the army of these Replicas. Whoever they were, they were not about to stop. Asch tightened his grip on the firing mechanism and twisted the guns to the left, taking out the nearest two ships.

The autopilot rolled him out of the way as a ship nearly blindsided him, leaving streaks of the strange black metal that their ships were made out of along the side of his own. He winced at the nails-on-chalkboard screech it let out, and his heart hammered as the ship groaned and protested.

“Just a little longer,” he whispered.

The _Auldrant_ loomed over him. Just a little further, that was it - _come on!_

The entire ship spun as an explosion rocked him and knocked Asch back against the seat. He groaned, briefly disoriented, and shook his head to clear it. Even with a reaffirmed grip on his weapon’s controls, it took a good moment for the ringing in his ears to stop.

“Warning. Ship compromised. Warning. Life support failing. Warning.”

Asch felt his hands slip from the controls, his breaths seesawing in and out of his chest. Ahead of him, he could see the enemy ships lining up to take their shot, their weapons all trained on him. Gleaming, almost beautiful, he thought. They looked similar to his own, but these were more advanced, changed and modified until they were nothing but killing machines.

He was exhausted. His leg was throbbing, his head pounding, his mouth dry. He was facing down his own death again, a child in an oversized tin can. Asch didn’t freeze, he didn’t back down - he couldn’t, not when he was a General in an army that needed morale and needed a damn fine pilot and needed _him_!

“As– g-t -ut of –ere!”

His com was going too. The voice screaming in his ear belonged to someone he would never see again. Her blond hair, her bright, cornflower blue eyes, her kind smile - all of it gone in a quick explosion.

_I’m not good enough. I’ve never been good enough._

_“Well? Are you just going to take this lying down?”_

Voices in his head. Just what he needed. Asch watched as the lasers illuminated the tips of the guns in a bright, cherry red, pinpointing his ship as the last standing.

_“I taught you better than that.”_

“You betrayed me,” he muttered to himself and clenched his jaw. No one was there, least of all that man.

_“You’re just going to give up and die? What happened to your revenge? What happened to finding out why?”_

Asch reached a shaking hand up to slide along the smooth helmet protecting his head and began to click the sequence of buttons on the side in order to open it up. Ahead of him, the cherry red grew to be blinding, and he closed his eyes. He was so damn _tired_.

“Unauthorized presence detected in system. Alert. Alert.” The grating voice of the computer rang out around him, a herald of the end.

Despite himself, Asch opened his eyes.

The lasers shot out at him, at his ship. He knew there was no way he was going to block the volley.

An energy shield rippled around his ship, cast out from the sides and covering the back end of it just as the lasers struck. It sent the entire machine spinning end over end back towards the _Auldrant_ and Asch quickly stopped trying to get his helmet off. Instead he turned his chair and gripped the controls, feeling his stomach clench and bile roll up his throat. He couldn’t stop the spinning, no matter what controls he punched or kicked or screamed at.

Live.

Oh yes. He was alive. Somehow.

Asch finally righted the ship and stared down at the flickering screen. Spiderweb cracks made most of it impossible to see, but he was certain there was foreign code being written and piloting the ship for him.

“What the - ! Who’s doing that?” his commander’s voice crackled in his ear.

His com had cleared up, too, apparently.

“I’m dead in the water out here!” he snapped, gripping the controls and making them creak under the pressure. That last burst of energy had fried his engines, and he was in a worse predicament than before. Whoever or whatever had hacked into his systems had just made things worse. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

“I think I just saved your life. Hold on a second.”

That voice was one he didn’t recognize. The docking bay opened up and belched out -

another black ship.

Asch’s heart stuttered to a halt. Behind him he was certain the other enemy ships were preparing another volley, this time both at the exposed underbelly of the Auldrant and at Asch’s ship. In front of him was another enemy, all black and gleaming and dangerous, and it had come from the _Auldrant_. _Inside_ the _Auldrant_.

“What the hell is going on!”

The black ship sped around his own, and Asch, despite himself, couldn’t help watching its intended trajectory. Instead of destroying his barely-held-together machine, it went after the six enemy ships, and pinpointed each one like a predator among easy prey. Asch went completely ignored by the newcomer even as tow-cable hooks punched into the broken wings on either side of his ship and started reeling him back in towards the docking bay.

Asch swallowed his nausea as best he could, knowing full well he was all that remained of this squad. His hands shook as he collapsed fully into his chair, the dark ship standing guard between him and the blackness of space.

“Unauthorized ship has left the docking bay.”

“A little late notice, don’t you think?” Asch snapped halfheartedly at the system. It, naturally, didn’t respond.

Out there, beyond his sight, was the enemy’s mothership. They never showed up - not on radar, not by sight, nothing. Only the emptiness of space and those fast, small ships. Why didn’t it attack? As much as Asch hated to admit it, he was wide open here, as was the _Auldrant_ behind him. Why didn’t it just swallow him up like the endless space around him?

“Get back on the ship! That is an order!” The commander sounded furious. Chatter filled Asch’s com unit and only grew louder and more frenzied the closer he got to the ship. His machine was beyond repair; more than likely, they would need to consolidate what forces and ships they had left, especially with over a dozen of them floating as mere debris around them.

“I can’t exactly move any faster,” Asch snapped.

“Not you,” came a female voice belonging to the woman he had thought he would never see again. It calmed him, if only a little. “That unauthorized launch.” She didn’t sound in the least upset by it; if anything, she sounded relieved.

Asch rubbed his eyes and returned to watching the battle ahead as his ship was continually dragged backward. The small black ship he had thought to be an enemy was decimating what remained of the enemy ships. It was deadly and efficient, taking advantage of minute things that Asch himself had missed. His eyes widened as the rest of the enemy ships disappeared, some completely destroyed and others simply vanishing from existence.

The black ship and Asch’s own were soon docked in the same hangar. Once the doors were locked and the cabin pressure equalized, Asch kicked his hatch open. Med teams were already heading straight towards him. He spared a glance at his gunner’s lifeless body, feeling his heart jolt and his anger spark. He felt useless - he hadn’t even managed to save his copilot.

 _I’m…_ No, sorry didn’t even come close. It was a meaningless word that wouldn’t make anyone feel better.

Asch pushed his hair back and out of his face, ignoring the bruises and throbbing that he carried through his body. Instead, his eyes locked onto the opening black ship, and the pilot that stood up in the cockpit.

The ship opened like a brand new coffin, hinges soundlessly moving and lifting the black-purple canopy and allowing its pilot to rise. Asch saw only a small, green tail of hair at first, the back of the pilot’s head, and watched as they lifted something from the side of the ship and placed it over their nose and mouth. They weren’t wearing a helmet as far as he could tell, though there was definitely some kind of device that curved over the pilot’s ears and back of their head. They pressed a button on the side, and the visor shielding their eyes lightened from its pitch black color into a light gray.

Dark eyes met his own from across the room from behind the visor. A black mouthpiece, the thing they must have lifted into place, hid the lower half of their face from view, though it didn’t appear to be connected to the device covering the pilot’s head. Asch held the gaze with a glare of his own despite the begrudging gratitude he felt.

“You!”

Asch jumped, though the word was not directed at him. He watched as the smaller pilot - male, as far as he could tell - descended the ladder after breaking eye contact. The suit he wore was unlike anything Asch had seen up close before, and he wracked his brain, trying to think of the design. Slim, formfitting, and laced with electronics that Asch couldn’t begin to explain. Lights raced up the spine and down strategic places in the arms and legs, following the contours of the human body encased in it. The boots, despite their thickness, made almost no sound as the pilot walked towards the newly entered group of officials.

From his vantage point, Asch could see the shake in the Admiral’s hands. Normally Admiral Grants was not one to outwardly show emotion; he must have been truly furious to be so obvious about it. Vaguely below him Asch heard the med teams call up, requesting he come down so a full assessment could be made. He carefully went down the ladder and they sat him on a cot. He ignored them, only moving when they asked him to, and instead watched the Admiral loom over his… savior. The word left a bad taste in his mouth.

AIt seemed rather unfair, all things considered. And the other _had_ saved Asch’s life… He opened his mouth to protest from across the room. Maybe it would save the younger pilot from brig time.

“No Replica is to leave their quarters, no matter the circumstances!” Admiral Grants hissed, and all words died on Asch’s tongue. The ambient discussions and demands from those around the Admiral faded into white noise in Asch’s ears.

A Replica. What the hell was a _Replica_ doing on the _Auldrant_? Before he could demand an explanation, the Replica pilot lifted his head and stared straight at Asch with such an intense look that Asch ended up glaring all the harsher. Though the mask still covered both nose and mouth, the Replica’s eyes narrowed slightly, and his face shifted as if he was - he was smirking!

Asch moved to stand up despite several medical personnel trying to get him to sit still, but before he could rush over and demand an explanation, both the Admiral and the Replica were gone.


	2. Truths

It had been a request, of all things, that ended up with him stuck here. Not a foolish choice, or a half-baked plan. No, it was a request from someone he could barely call a friend. Had to call a friend. Only an idiot would get himself caught to fulfill a plea from someone they barely knew. He didn’t ‘barely know’ them, but he was certainly wishing somewhere inside of him that he had never met anyone.

Sync kept his eyes closed against the harsh light of the small room. The door was locked - not that it would stop him; it was cute that they thought it would - and there wasn’t much he could do with his hands bound and his mouth forcibly shut. He ran his fingers over the edges of the mask that prevented him from speaking, the mask he had had someone else rip off his face for him. It was not an experience he particularly wanted to repeat.

 

They couldn’t know he had spoken to Asch fon Fabre, Asch the Bloody, Asch the General of Kimlasca. If they did, his punishment would be all the more severe, and he really didn’t want to listen to another lecture or end up in the brig for an extended stay. Enough people hated him on this ship, and he seemed to keep managing to give them more fodder.

Sighing, he leaned his head back against the wall, the heavy manacles keeping his arms from rising much higher than his chest. Built to keep him from moving quickly, just like everything else in this little ‘room’. His fingers itched to pop the locks again.

Four walls meant to contain a dangerous prisoner, a small cot with itchy blankets and a lumpy pillow, a small bathroom that, at least, was in its own contained mini room, and a small holo device that no one had figured out yet was hacked. Of course, if they hadn’t found the multitude of other bugs he had left on the ship’s computers and com units, then it probably hadn’t occurred to them to make sure he hadn’t done something in his quarters.

He stood up and walked over to the chair, eyes still closed, and listened for the breathing of the guards outside. They were quiet, certainly, but his senses were better than theirs. No doubt they were there to stop him from getting into trouble, and no doubt they were terrible at their jobs. He almost felt bad for them.

Sync crouched so that he could lower his head towards his bound wrists and reached his hand up to the side of the device situated over his ears and across the back of his skull, beneath his green hair. A Replica device that these people hadn’t been able to replicate - he chuckled at the word - or learn about. They’d tried, but it was connected to their skull, and they found him more useful alive than dead. So far.

The visor covered his eyes, dimming the lights slightly, and he opened them so he could see what he was doing. With a quick few slides of his fingers, the console came to life. He went through his back door into the deeper system and found the letters he wanted to send, but couldn’t get out. There was one for every week - a status report, of sorts. Notes Sync didn’t want to forget.

And with one click of a button on his device, it would all be deleted.

_XX:XX:XX_

_I saved his sorry ass. Again. How many times is he going to put himself at risk and require rescuing? The fool doesn’t seem to realize how important it is to work together rather than just ordering people around. I know he’s capable of it - I’ve seen the vids, his victories on the ground and in space, so I know he can do it - so why doesn’t he utilize these people to their full potential? Is he really such a poor tactician?_

_He’ll no doubt he feeling this for weeks, lashing out at his fellows, and alienate himself in his room. The Admiral will go speak with him, the vid feed will go dark, and I’ll have to sift through audio to figure out what happened again. No doubt another argument, accusations being thrown, and that damn Admiral so calmly rebutting everything Asch has to say._

He paused, fingers poised over the keys, and carefully listened. There were boots walking along the hall, quieted voices that never failed to reach him, rumors and mystery following the hallowed crew like a bunch of flies. He rolled his eyes and kept going.

_Why did you want me to bother saving him? He’s reckless and thinks with his emotions and anger before planning out anything. How he hasn’t gotten more of his men killed before now I have no idea._

_But… I suppose he’s not been entirely useless. If they hadn’t been ambushed today he might have even won a slim victory. His use of his scouts was almost smart, by his standards._

Sync glared at the keyboard, his brow furrowing, as he added a few more lines about Asch’s strategies, especially the ones that had fallen apart, before he wrote one last line.

_Why do you think he’s so important, Luke?_

He saved the file with the others, tucked them away in his little hidden stash, and shut the machine off. After another crouch and another fiddling to lighten his visor again, Sync headed for the cot and lay down on his back. The blaring lights were giving him a headache. They always did. It was such a waste of power.

He closed his eyes and kept a keen ear out. When they wanted to drag him away to the brig, he planned on being aware, not knocked unconscious. Again.

Perhaps, he considered with a small smirk, he should try that again. Nothing like riling up the very people his own were in a war with.


End file.
